


Ragdoll

by masonverger_rising



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Castration, Medical Torture, Mutilation, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 12:24:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2547422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masonverger_rising/pseuds/masonverger_rising
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When she was very small Margot had a rag doll. What happened to it is long since lost to memory and in a way that is comforting. No recollection of the doll’s demise means that this childhood companion most likely hadn’t met a traumatic, Mason-related end.</p>
<p>What Margot remembers most about the doll was that it had been comforting, it had almost been as tall as her when she held it up, and she had discovered accidentally that it was very soothing to pull out its woolly hair; she would spend hours at a time picking at the little knots and teasing out the strands of wool to fall forlornly on her bedroom carpet.</p>
<p>In Margot’s very last memories of the doll it had been almost bald, but still with what had seemed to Margot to be a perpetual sympathetic smile on its round, freckled face.</p>
<p>This doll, and the quiet hours that she had spent lovingly pulling it to pieces are one of the few childhood memories that Mason has never touched, and when she notices the comparison she wonders, briefly, if she somehow feels guilty for having had something for herself, something that he didn’t get to spoil.</p>
<p>No, she thinks to herself, looking down and smiling softly, no, this is different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ragdoll

**Author's Note:**

> written for a giveaway on tumblr  
> apuresociopath requested: Something gory involving Hannibal, Mason and Margot? I’d quite like to see maybe Hannibal and Margot doing stuff to Mason, so Mason on the receiving end (effectively ignoring the drugs and face feeding to dogs thing). I’d say mainly Margot with Hannibal’s influence and occasional guidance.

When she was very small Margot had a rag doll. What happened to it is long since lost to memory and in a way that is comforting. No recollection of the doll’s demise means that this childhood companion most likely hadn’t met a traumatic, Mason-related end.

It seems likely that the doll had just become so worn and tattered that it had been tossed away by one of their nannies. Still not the nicest end to consider but at least the closest thing to a  _natural_  death that a toy can expect.

What Margot remembers most about the doll was that it had been comforting, it had almost been as tall as her when she held it up, and she had discovered accidentally that it was very soothing to pull out its woolly hair; she would spend hours at a time picking at the little knots and teasing out the strands of wool to fall forlornly on her bedroom carpet.

In Margot’s very last memories of the doll it had been almost bald, but still with what had seemed to Margot to be a perpetual sympathetic smile on its round, freckled face.

This doll, and the quiet hours that she had spent lovingly pulling it to pieces are one of the few childhood memories that Mason has never touched, and when she notices the comparison she wonders, briefly, if she somehow feels guilty for having had something for herself, something that he didn’t get to spoil.

_No_ , she thinks to herself, looking down and smiling softly,  _no, this is different_.

 

Mason drifts toward consciousness, aware at first only of the familiar scent of Margot’s perfume enveloping him, the warm weight of blankets and the steady, rhythmic stroke of her fingertips through his hair.

As he becomes more aware, as his memories piece themselves together he frowns — last he could recall he and Margot had  _not_  been on the friendliest of terms, even for them. Perhaps this is her latest attempt at getting on his good side, he wonders what she  _wants_  if she’s willing to swallow down her anger in order to try and appease him — he wonders just how  _far_  she’ll go to get her way.

He tries to lift his hand to wipe his face, but he can’t — he can’t move his other arm either, he tries kicking out but he can feel it now, soft restraints holding him down, so gentle that he hadn’t even noticed them until he’d tried to move.

Mason opens his eyes and realises that he isn’t at home, isn’t tucked safe in his own bed at all. He’s in Doctor Lecter’s office, strapped to the chaise lounge. He feels nauseous, his stomach twists and he gags, he can taste acid in the back of his throat and though his vision is blurred without his glasses he can still make out the worried crease between Margot’s eyebrows, “Margot, what the  _fuck—?”_

She shushes him and pushes her fingers through his hair again at the same time as Doctor Lecter’s voice comes from somewhere near his feet, “Mason, there’s no need for vulgarity.”

"You  _can’t_  — you—” Mason can’t think straight, his head feels all foggy and he kicks out again, struggling and bucking against the restraints. Soft as they are he can feel himself bruising. The more he fights the sicker he feels, he can feel himself turning red in the face, his guts clenching.

"Mason, stop it," Margot’s voice has taken on the gravelly tone that it gets when she’s properly scared and he feels a kind of vicious pleasure under everything that even trussed up like he is he can make her feel that way.

"Mason," Lecter’s tone is warning but he ignores it, then the man himself comes into view, kneels beside Mason and  _jerks_  something and suddenly Mason’s chest is constricted, he can’t quite take a breath and he feels like he might puke his ears are ringing.

"Mason, listen carefully," Lecter says, "we’re going to sit quietly and wait for the sedative to wear off; you’ll only make yourself ill if you struggle like that," he waits a moment and then loosens the strap, though not as much as it had been before.

The back of Mason’s neck prickles and he feels gooseflesh raise all over his body, sweeping him from the top of his scalp to his heels. “Margot,” he says quietly, “Margot, c’mon, this isn’t funny — whatever you want, we can talk about it. You don’t need to—”

“ _Shh_ , Mason it’s okay,” Margot smooths her hand through his hair and leans down to press a kiss to his forehead, “I’m going to make everything better. Just relax, think of everything you’ve done for me,” her tone is sweet but her mouth twitches into a slow, wolfish smile and Mason feels ice in his belly.

He tries to argue, tries to wheedle his way out of whatever it is they have planned for him but Lecter is cool and implacable, Margot seems to be humming with anticipation and Mason feels his lip tremble, sure that he’s going to die slowly and suffer.

After a while he hears Lecter’s shoes tapping on the floor, something heavy being set down somewhere near his feet, “Listen, Margot,” he whispers, blinking away tears, “I’ll do it alright, I’ll give you and Judy what you need, just lemme go—”

"I know," Margot gives him another Cheshire cat smile and strokes his cheek, "it’s alright Mason, I’ve taken care of everything."

"We can begin," Lecter says.

"Try to keep still," Margot kisses him again and moves, goes down to where Lecter is kneeling at the foot of the chaise. Mason lifts his head to try and see what they’re doing, sees the shine of a large syringe in Lecter’s hand.

"No, what are you doing?  _Don’t_ —” they ignore him.

Margot peels the blankets from his ankles up, folds it neatly over his belly and Mason can feel the cool air against his shins, his thighs, his genitals. His legs twitch as he tries to squirm away and Margot reaches down to rub his thigh, shushing him. She rubs his belly with her other hand, murmuring soothingly.

Lecter’s face is expressionless, unreadable. He is wearing nitrile gloves and his sleeves are rolled up, he reaches between Mason’s legs and gently lifts his scrotum, dabs the skin with an antiseptic swab, then delicately shifts his testicles so that he can slide the needle in cleanly.

"No, _no, no, no please no_ ,” Mason whimpers, the first prick registers only as a bright spark of pain and then it grows, amplifies as the needle moves, as Lecter works the plunger slowly. Mason’s legs jerk, his muscles twitching, jumping against the restraints and he tries to curl in on himself, he breaks off into a wordless, keening groan.

Margot keeps rubbing his belly, “Shh it’s alright, Mason,” it would sound soothing except that she’s still  _smiling_ , “it’s alright, just the other side to go.”

The second one is even worse, the pain claws through his belly and he feels like he’s burning all over, like he’s going to puke or pass out or have a seizure. Margot strokes his face, rubs his belly. It takes a moment for Mason to realise when Lecter finishes, sets the syringes aside in a storage container and removes his gloves.

He feels cold now, feels the colour drain from his face, “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you, Margot?”

She shushes him again, “No Mason, not today.”

"I think," Doctor Lecter says evenly, "that you should kill him, Margot. It would be more thera—"

"No," she says, and there’s an edge to her voice, "thank you, but no — I know what I want right now."

"As you please," Lecter shrugs, takes out another pair of gloves and hands some over to Margot, "shall we continue, then?"

“ _Continue?”_  Mason’s mouth falls open and he struggles to breathe around the enormity of that implication — if they’re not going to kill him then they could be planning  _anything_.

"Don’t fret Mason," Margot chirps, "you’ve shown me how to do this plenty of times … on cows, and horses. A hog or two."

“ _Margot, please_ —”

Her hand on his scrotum is less careful than Lecter’s had been, Mason tenses all over, squeezes his eyes shut, holds his breath. He knows what’s coming now.

Margot takes the scalpel that Doctor Lecter offers and weighs it in her hand, it’s different than the one that Mason uses, obviously, but it is sharper, it will give him a cleaner cut than he ever gave her. That seems like a sort of kindness now, and she doesn’t begrudge him that at all.

The first stroke of the blade edge opens the skin like petals peeling back. Mason bellows with the pain and Margot works quickly then — fits the scalpel behind one testicle where it is joined to the rest of his works, and with a twist of her wrist she separates it, the other comes away just as easily and Doctor Lecter collects the two pink lumps and carefully stores them away as well.

Mason is hyperventilating, his eyes and nose are streaming and his chin and the corners of his mouth are flecked with spittle. Margot wipes his face with tissues while Lecter places a couple of sutures and cleans his wound.

"So that’s it then," Mason gasps between shuddering breaths, his chest heaving, "that’s it, Margot’s got hers now — it’s all going to work out for you, isn’t it?" she wipes away a streak of saliva that drops down his cheek, "gonna get your fucking girlfriend knocked up and it’s all going to work out for you, is it?"

She nods serenely.

"You’ll have to kill me — you think I’m going to let you do that?  _Huh?_  You think you’re going to get away with this?” Mason’s voice is ragged, raw, ringing with sincerity, but Margot shakes her head, as calm as ever.

"I told you Mason, I’m not going to kill you," she smiles again and he freezes, "I have a far better idea."

He can’t breathe, between the pain and the expression on Margot’s face he wheezes, can’t draw a breath. Mason’s heart races, he feels like his skin is going to split and he’ll be all raw nerves exposed to the air.

"A panic attack," Doctor Lecter says as calmly as though he was discussing the weather, "it will pass."

When Mason calms Doctor Lecter begins. He starts at the ankles, severs Mason’s achilles tendons, moves up and hamstrings him, as he slices through the tendons there is an audible  _snap_  and Margot flinches, her hands twitch where they cup Mason’s face.

Lecter works with the deftness and speed of an artist, but it still takes a little more than an hour for him to release the majority of Mason’s tendons. Tiny incisions litter Mason’s body. In places the muscles have bunched under his skin and Lecter takes a moment to assess them, make sure that there is no danger of thrombosis, no risk to Mason’s life — after all,  _Margot knows what she wants_.

Margot is petting Mason’s cheek, whispering how well he has done, wiping away the tears that slide from the corners of his eyes. He turns his head into her hand, she doesn’t move quickly enough and he sinks his teeth into her thumb, catching her just behind the joint. He tastes blood.

She snarls, her lips drawn back from her teeth and she pinches his earlobe, twists it until it turns white and then bright bright red. Eventually Mason releases her thumb, his own lips pulled into a grimace.

"If you bite me again, Mason — Mason, listen carefully now you’ll want to remember this — if you bite me again I will pull your teeth out one by one and you can live off baby food for the rest of your life," she leans down and kisses him on the forehead, "I’ll do it myself with pliers from the stables. I’ll do it while you’re sleeping. You can take my word for it, brother dear."

“ _This_  is what you wanted?” they could undo the restraints holding Mason down and he wouldn’t be able to get away, they could do anything to him and he couldn’t fight back — he thinks of his private doctors, the surgical specialists he has on the payroll. They could repair this if he could call them quickly, Lecter has left him the use of his thumbs at the very least, he could call a surgeon, have his tendons reconnected — and it would take  _months_  of physical therapy but it could be fixed, he’s certain of it.

"This is what I want," Margot smiles and it’s a little dreamy, she keeps petting his hair the way that she had done when they were children, before everything was completely soured between them, "but there’s still one more thing — just a very little thing, and you’ve been so  _brave_ , Mason. Just stay still a little longer, alright?”

"No, no more," he says, "no mo—"

Margot stuffs his silk tie between his teeth and this time when she smiles it is all razor teeth, the same smile that Mason has so often seen in the mirror.

The knife that Lecter hands her this time is serrated, she holds it out so Mason can see, at the same time she takes his cock in her gloved hand, stretches it out straight.

Mason sobs and chokes around the tie, but it doesn’t stop her.

"I’ve never been jealous of you for this Mason," she rests the edge of the blade halfway along his cock, so lightly that it is just a shiver of cold against his fevered skin, "I’ve never understood why anyone would think I’d want one of these, but I just want you to know that that is  _not_  the reason I’m doing this.”

Lecter clears his throat and it sounds suspiciously like  _Freud was a hack_.

"The thing is, you’ve been …  _irresponsible_  is not the right word. It lacks gravitas. You’ve hurt people, Mason. You’ve hurt me. And you’ve used  _this_ ,” her hand trembles or she shifts it slightly and the blade moves, draws a bead of blood and Mason screams through the gag, “you’ve used this to do it.”

She waits until he quiets so that she can finish speaking, “You’ve used this to hurt so many people. I’m going to take half of it.  _Half_. And you’re going to remember exactly what it feels like, and exactly how long it takes to heal and if you ever hurt someone like that again then I’ll take half again, and half again — a nice little Zeno’s paradox, don’t you think?”

Margot draws the blade back, sawing into the meat of his cock and a fine jet of blood catches her across the face. Mason screams, even with the gag, screams as though he is dying, his torso arches, he flails against the straps and then collapses, unconscious.

"Finish the cut," Doctor Lecter says and Margot does.

She tosses the scrap of meat into a plastic bag at her feet and steps away so that the doctor can close the blood vessels, stop Mason from bleeding out.

The blood on her cheek feels hot, intimate. She looks down at Mason, his eyes closed, his cheeks tearstained and he could be only sleeping. Margot smiles to herself.

By this time tomorrow everything will have changed.

No matter what he does, Mason won’t be able to ruin this.

Margot has made sure of it.


End file.
